


Old Habits

by MittenCrab



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Hangover, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenCrab/pseuds/MittenCrab
Summary: He wakes up hungover and alone. Nothing new there. Sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks he should know better.[Robert is sick of old habits dying hard. Maybe it's time to make some new ones.]





	Old Habits

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the shortest thing I've ever written, but I enjoyed writing it so I posted it here. For tallihoozoo, for talking with me about these sad dads and making me invested in Robert's wellbeing and happiness.

He wakes up hungover and alone. Nothing new there. Sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks he should know better.

Robert cracks open his eyes and winces against the light streaming in through the gap in the curtains. His head feels like gravel and seawater and motor oil, all churning nauseatingly over each other. Again, again, again. It’s too much. He closes his eyes.

The sunlight is strong and sharp against his face, so it must be well past noon, but he isn't sure of the time or how long he slept for. You’re a fucking mess, he thinks, as though that’s anything new. Groggily, he tries to work out what day it is. He can't remember. Only knows that his mouth tastes like shit and that there's nausea sitting deep in his stomach.

He's been dreaming of something he can't quite recall, but loss is aching behind his sternum. Blonde hair and hands that feel like home. His mind stumbles over the memory of blue eyes, of fingernails down his back, of the taste of whiskey on somebody else’s tongue. Bright and raw.

Wedding ring hot against his skin. Just another tattoo like the one on his hand. Thou shalt not commit adultery.

His stomach lurches.

He considers stumbling to the bathroom. Imagines himself retching into the sink, miserable and desperate, as though he can somehow choke _him_ out of his lungs.

Robert groans and pushes his face down into the pillow as though that will ease the nausea. He needs a new bad habit. This one is eating him alive.

“Good morning to you too.”

Fuck. Not so alone after all.

He rolls over onto his side (too quickly, his stomach protests) to piece together his latest regret. Gets ready to ask him to leave.

And then he’s staring right into the last face he expected to see.

“Huh?” he manages. He blinks stupidly, trying to add everything up.

“How’re you feeling?” Joseph laughs, soft and warm. The sound hurts a little, but his fingers are threading through Robert’s hair and it feels so _good_ against the ache in his skull that he can’t be bothered to tell him to stop. “Wow, you look like you’re about to hurl. You’re getting old, Rob.”

Robert wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, but his brain is still coming together. Instead, he just groans and closes his eyes. Sure, he’s not twenty-one anymore, but he can handle himself just fine. He’s fine. Probably. Maybe.

“You want an aspirin? I’m sorry, I should have stopped you.”

He opens his eyes again. Joseph is smirking a little as though any of this is funny. But he’s still stroking Robert’s hair, and it’s calming the panicky, acidic thing that lives underneath his sternum. His left hand starts trailing all over Robert’s face, drawing nonsense patterns along his eyebrow, his cheek, his jaw. He squints up at it, half annoyed.

Realises there’s no wedding band. Not anymore. Not for months. Just warm skin.

It’s then that the world starts piecing together. He remembers why he’s been drinking. The divorce papers. Moving boxes into his hallway. Joseph’s ugly goddamn shirts slotting next to his in the wardrobe.

“Holy shit,” he says, presses into Joseph’s touch, and laughs even though it makes his head hurt because how could he forget. Shuffles into his space under the sheets - _their_ sheets, now - feels the solid, grounding warmth of his body.

“Language.”

“Hnn.” He grins, grabs clumsily at Joseph’s waist, tangles their legs together until he’s pulled tightly against him. Lets the nightmare melt away like ice in whiskey. Presses his face into the crook of Joseph’s neck and inhales sandalwood and soap and salt. Feels the world align itself again.

“Really,” Joseph is saying softly, massaging at the base of his skull, where the ache is most tender, “I’m sorry. I should have stopped you after the third glass. Val would kill me. I just-”

“It’s okay.” he reaches groggily for Joseph’s face. Lets his fingers trail over his lips. Clumsy and warm. It’s been years since he had a hangover from something that wasn’t just misery. It feels different, somehow. Less empty. “It’s on me. Nothing wrong with wanting to celebrate you moving in with me.”

“You could have celebrated with _one_ , not-”

“It’s,” he swallows. Feels something like shame stir nastily behind his ribs. “You know. Old habits.”

“Yeah.” Joseph says quietly. He leans down and kisses his forehead, and Robert shivers a little. “I know.”

 _I know you're fucked up_ , he may as well say, because it's the truth and they both know it. If this was a movie, the credits should be rolling - end, fin, happy ever after. Joseph should have stepped into the shower with him and kissed him and washed the bad habits away from his skin like absolution and made everything fine. Click of the director's board, cut done, you can go home now. But life isn't a screenplay, and Joseph isn't some grand solution. 

When it comes down to it, he’s a wreck. But they both are, in their own ways, and he’s getting there. Waking up a little bit better each time. It’s been easier, lately, remembering to take the right pills. Managing to go to therapy. He tries to blame it on Joseph, on his cooking, on being able to cling to him at night, but something deep down knows that he’s doing this himself.

Maybe it’s that that makes him say it.

“I’ve uh. Been thinking… maybe it’s time to start making some new ones. New old habits.” He coughs. Looks up at Joseph and sees a second chance. “with you.”

The way Joseph smiles makes something well up in his chest like campfires and stars.

“Well,” Joseph says, kisses Robert’s forehead again, warm and tender. Tangles their fingers together like one of his knots, like it’ll anchor them together. A promise made of flesh and blood _._ “I guess we could start with breakfast. No hangover cure like a good breakfast.”

Robert just smiles. Pushes his face into Joseph and breathes him in. He’s not fine. But he will be. And now they have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find me on twitter as @mitten_crab!](https://twitter.com/mitten_crab/)   
> 


End file.
